


Chitter Chitter Chur

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Community: lewis_challenge, Gen, Halloween, I have no idea, Lewis Fright Fest 2015, Native Americans, maine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:58:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're sitting by the fire drinking tea and making s'mores - "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chitter Chitter Chur

**Author's Note:**

> So, you guys. I've been debating about pulling this story ever since I wrote it, because it went horribly, horribly wrong. Basically, when I wrote this, I wanted to use an aspect of Native American culture and theology, and somehow in the process of writing it I not only lost the source I was using (aka when you think you've saved a link, and then discover you haven't, and can't find it again), but I'm pretty sure I confused it with another legend, also Native American. Now it's been so long that I can't even remember what it was I originally was going to do. 
> 
> Total Author Fail, basically.
> 
> I also feel that I've messed with the folklore, and I can't figure out what I've done - all I know is that this story feels wrong. 
> 
> But...I'm leaving it up. Perhaps if one of you, dear readers, are more familiar with Native American culture you can tell me where it went wrong, because I can't figure it out. Let this be a lesson to all you writers - make sure you save your sources!!!

"She wouldn't stop screaming. That was the worst part of it. I could handle the crime scene, but her screaming," James shook his head, took a sip of the lovely red Robbie had brought for dinner. 

Robbie poured himself a second glass, then seated himself on the sofa with a sigh. "So what happened then?" 

"The EMT's came, strapped her down and took her away. Ophelia said it was probably from the influx of legal highs that are the scourge of New England, even as far north as she lives."

"She's probably right," said Robbie, nodding half-heartedly. 

He looked sleepy, and James wondered if he should tell him to go to bed. He wondered if he should go to bed, too, or try and stay up a little longer to get back on British time. His vacation in Maine had lasted both forever and not long enough. Ophelia had been a gracious host, and either she or he or both of them had changed enough for his visit to be pleasant and relaxing instead of tense and snappish. Or maybe that was because he hadn't spent much time with her. He liked her partner, however, and her children, who had come to Maine especially to meet him. That all three children proved to be charming and kind and utterly unlike the rest of the Hathaways, for which he was grateful. The downside was that they were extremely American, though Ophelia assured him they knew how to make a proper cup of tea.

"It's true what they say about autumn in New England," said James, sprawling down the sofa a little more. Robbie didn't mind; he never minded. "The color of the leaves is outrageous. Reds and oranges and yellows like I've never seen before. In fact," he said, turning towards Robbie. "it looks just like it does in the movies and on tv. If you didn't know better, you'd say it was just a trick of camera lighting."

"Sounds like you fell in love with the place."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"So tell me, since you were there during Halloween, what was it like?"

James shook his head. "Ophelia's place is on the end of a dirt road, but she put out a basket filled with bags of candy at the end of the drive, along with a carved pumpkin that had an LED candle inside. So you don't start forest fires," he explained. He took a sip of wine, rolled it on his tongue, savoured the inky tannins on his tongue, the unpleasant cherry flavour skunking up the back of his nose. "We went to a haunted house."

"No!" Robbie turned to stare at him. "You didn't!"

"We did. Ophelia takes her neighbor's grandchildren out trick or treating, and they wanted to do the Barker Castle in Barker Park," James pushed himself upright. Sprawling when you were watching tv or were utterly exhuasted from work was one thing, trying to tell a story while doing the same was a recipe for disaster. Besides, he was so relaxed he was on the verge of spilling his wine all over the carpet. 

"Did you dress up?"

"Oh yes, yes we did," he said smugly. "And no, I didn't go as a copper. I was a pirate."

There was dead silence, then they both burst into giggles. James blamed the wine. "I borrowed it from the husband of one of her friends. If you're very lucky, there might even be a picture winging its way across the pond as we speak."

Robbie clapped a heavy, warm hand on James' shoulder. "I'll get the coffee for a week if you show me."

"And those little cake things."

"And the little cake thing," Robbie repeated, before sitting back. "So?"

"So what?"

"So come on, tell me about this Barker Castle. It wasn't a real one thought, right? America doesn't have castles."

"Have you ever seen the Amityville Horror?" 

"Yeah, scared Val something awful."

"That's what the organizers were aiming for. This is an old house by American standards, sitting by itself on a hill not quite on the outskirts of town. Even though it's wood-built, it's a grand building, three stories tall, with views down the hill and over the road. It's also pink."

"Pink?"

"I know, it sounds bizarre, but actually," James shrugged a little. "It suits the house pretty well."

Robbie make a sound of disagreement and shook his head. "Americans."

"We arrived just after it had closed, but Andy, he's Ophelia's daughter's teacher's husband, he let us in anyway, said Ophelia knew the way out and that nothing would happen to us."

"That doesn't sound ominous at all," mumbled Robbie.

James huffed, loose with wine and a full belly and warm from the heat of the fire. "All the kiddos had left by then, except for one family still trying to make their way out of the corn maze."

"Just you and Ophelia?"

James nodded. "Andy met us at the door. I should've known what to expect when he said he wasn't coming in with us. He had a huge ring of keys and a flashlight - "

Robbie groaned and chuckled at the same time. "Oh my god - "

"I know. I feel like I've already seen this movie. Anyway, Andy lets us in and it's exactly what you expect, all hardwoods and patterned wall paper, dado rails and mirrors in the hallway, a tiled foyer in black, cream, and red. We walk into this room that's littered with torn tickets and the worst, most tacky Halloween decorations you can imagine."

"Ah, grinning skeletons and pumpkins coated in glitter?"

"You forgot the black paper scaredy cats and tombstones labeled RIP," intoned James. "I mean, come on, if you're going to do that sort of thing, at least look up the history of it, maybe read that book by Professor Hutton."

Robbie had that look on his face, the one that informed James he was being too academic and fussy for the situation. James thought about showing his displeasure at Robbie' judgment with an eye roll or blowing out a breath, but then decided he was too relaxed to do either. "All I'm saying is that it would be nice for a pagan holiday to show its pagan roots."

"Ooo!" mocked Robbie, gently knocking his knee into James's at the same time.

Then James did roll his eyes. "Andy said the power for the action figures was off, but all the holiday lights were on. We're talking strings of pumpkin and candy corn lights- " James would never admit it, but he despite what Ophelia thought, he rather loved Candy Corn. 

"Sounds pretty ordinary so far," said Robbie, swirling the wine in his glass.

James nodded once in agreement. "So far. The living room had been transposed into a house of horrors. On a table by the window, in bowls of melting ice, are more bowls covered in plastic, with labeled cards in front of each one. There was a bowl of cold spaghetti in some kind of glossy clear sauce, the card in front of read 'worms', another of peeled grapes labeled 'eyeballs', a tray of half-stuffed manicotti masquerading as intestines, a bowl of jelly for brains, that sort of thing. They even had a library chair, the kind that if you turn it upside down becomes a three step ladder?"

At Robbie's nod of understanding, James continued. "I guess the idea is that you'd walk up it, blindfolded, then feel fear at the shock of stepping off of it unexpectedly. A terribly scary set up for kids, I suspect, and easily frightened adults. We ignored all of that and headed directly up the stairs. Ophelia said that back in the day - "

 _Back in the day_ , mouthed Robbie, grinning.

"Oh, shut up," said James with a chuckle. "I'm not bringing home any Americanisms. For serious."

Then it was Robbie's turn to roll his eyes. 

"Have you ever noticed people looked like they were sucking on lemons back then?"

"I think I would have, too, given how long it took to get a good photo," said James, letting his head roll against the back of the couch as Robbie shifted about.

"Not like today, what with our modern technology."

There was something in Robbie's voice, a hint of...James lazily turned his head and was rewarded by the sight of a phone and the audible click of a shutter closing. It took him a moment to realize that his co-worker, Detective Inspector Robert Robbie, had taken a picture of his former Sergeant practically in flagrante delicto. He blinked. "Really?"

Robbie grinned and shoved the phone in his back pocket. "Aye, really."

"Some day I'll make you pay for that."

"I'm counting on it."

James was pleased to hear the conviction in Robbie's voice. Robbie seemed very serious in his intention not to let James go, which he in turn was rather ashamed to admit made him quite happy.

"The other rooms were all right. One had been turned into an indoor maze using bales of hay - "

"Wouldn't want to tidy that one up after."

"Can you imagine? The dust - "

"The bugs! The seeds! The itching!"

"I shudder at the thought of it."

"Did you go upstairs?" asked Robbie, putting his feet on the coffee table.

"Yes, of course," answered James, matching him move for move only a half-second later. "I don't know what I expected, more of the same, I suppose, but I was wrong. The halls were lined with plastic, paint or some such splashed across it, in a pathetic attempt at copying blood. Over each door way hung more plastic, the thick kind they use at abattoirs and in grocery coolers. The doors behind the plastic were closed. I think that's when I started getting a little creeped out."

"Why?"

James frowned, shook his head. "No idea," he said slowly. "It's that feeling, y'know, when you approach a crime scene and you don't know what's happened there, but you do know you're not going to like it. Once of those types. Ophelia was hanging back behind me, urging me forward while trying to stay back at the same time. Door number one was locked. Door number two was open, and a beautiful girl lying on the ground. It was incredibly warm outside, the grass as green as anything, the leaves on the trees gently waving in the breeze. I remember being very confused, and telling myself that this was a dream, that I had nothing to fear, which in hindsight doesn't even make any sense at all. I'm awake, but dreaming that I'm awake, and accusing myself not only of being delusional, but that the door leads directly to a warm summer day, where families are entitled to...I don't know. It sounds crazy, but that's what I remember."

The thing is, James could still swear the girl was in that field. Then again, that was the way of dreams, wasn't it? Even the ones where you were awake? He said, "The fifth door on the left, the doorknob moved in my hand before I had a chance to turn it. I could tell Ophelia didn't want to go in, but she was too nervous to stay out in the hallway by herself. The room was dark inside - "

"Wait, wait, just wait a minute," said Robbie. "How long is this hallway? You're making it sound bigger than the house!"

"It's not a Tardis, trust me. We went in, and the room was dark. I felt along the wall for the light switch, yet when I flick it, nothing happens, not at first. Then Ophelia shrieked, and something glowed next to me. I jerked back, only to find a glow-in-the dark skeleton had dropped from the ceiling. The door opening must have been the widget, triggering the skeleton. We didn't stay too long after that, instead choosing door number on the opposite side of the hallway. "

"What was in the rest of the room?"

James sighed, "Nothing beyond that skeleton. Anyway, the rest of the house was filled with more surprises, y'know, the unexpected hall of mirrors, but in dim light so it looks like there are things coming at you in all directions. Scary clown pictures where the eyes follow you around the room, that sort of thing. When we were back downstairs, Ophelia decided she was desperate for a coffee and headed towards the gate house. That's where Andy was waiting for the last stragglers going through the corn maze. I decided to go for a walk. The woods around the Barker Castle are stunning. There are hiking and skiing trails through the forest - "

"To grandmother's house we go," murmured Robbie.

" - you'd love it. It's your kind of terrain; hilly, occasionally sandy, rocky outcrops here and there, streams to hop over. I came across what New Englanders call a cellar hole, which is a an empty dry stone foundation for a house. Almost fell into it, to be honest. Despite the leaf litter, I climbed down into it to get a good view of the tree canopy. The day was overcast, so the gold of the leaves really stood out and I wanted to get a picture on my phone. By the time I was done the sky had darkened and I could hear rain plinking onto the ground. A big drop hit me right in the eye. Unfortunately this is the ignominious part," James said wryly, knowing Robbie would be both concerned and amused. "Climbing back out, I slipped on a leaf covered rock and fell, hitting my head on the way down."

"Ah! I thought maybe my eyes were deceiving me," said Robbie, peering at James. "Yeah, there's a very faint bruise there. Still sore?"

James probed his forehead gingerly. "A little bit. Not as much as you might think. but...it was enough to knock me right out."

Robbie sighed and shook his head.

"I know, I know. I'm lucky I didn't 'break my damned fool neck,'" said James, using air quotes. "I don't know how long I was out, but it was full dark when I woke. I heard voices calling my name and shouted back once I had collected myself. Apparently Ophelia and Andy had been searching for me for a few hours, that in fact they had been by the cellar hole numerous times without looking inside. Anyway, they brought me back home and cleaned me up. I spent the rest of my holiday firmly ensconced either at the beach or traveling with Ophelia. She brought me to Bangor, to Mount Desert Island, we even went to Oak Island, home of the mysterious Money Pit."

"Oh right, I saw a documentary on Oak Island. Terrific mystery."

"Hmm. Anyway, now I'm back, refreshed and ready to face the criminal underclass of Oxford." 

"You do look better, lad," said Robbie, gazing at him fondly. 

James looked back to the fire. "I suppose. It was good to reconnect with Ophelia. Maine is a strange state, though, particularly the further north you go. I read in a story of this bizarre case of a small community around a pond. For years, houses had been broken in to, but nothing of importance was stolen. Instead, someone was stealing food, medical supplies, clothing. Eventually the man was caught, and it was discovered that he had been living in the woods by himself for some twenty years. Rain or shine, snow and ice, he lived year round in a shelter he had built himself. No one knew he was there. Apparently he had left his family in his mid twenties. He'd simply driven as far as he could, gotten out out the car and walked into the woods. He wasn't a survivalist, either, just an ordinary bloke overwhelmed by modern life. What's funny is that many of the locals, now that they know who he is, would prefer him not to be prosecuted. They feel that he's one of their own, which is an odd thing. I don't really understand it."

"No?" Robbie stretched, arms over his head, then yawned. "I think I do. In their eyes he was doing what he needed to do to survive. He didn't harm anyone, didn't take anything that couldn't be replaced - "

"Apart from peace of mind?"

Robbie conceded the point with a single nod. "Apart from that, yes. But he didn't hurt anyone, did he? He kept himself to himself, nothing wrong with that."

James stretched as well, became abruptly aware of his full bladder and got to his feet. "I'm off to the loo. You want anything?"

Robbie looked at him with upturned eyebrows, then the two of them broke into somewhat drunken hysterical laughter. 

"Sorry, ow, ow," James straightened up, holding his aching stomach. Still giggling, he made his way down the hallway to the bathroom. He did his business, then washed his hands. The bruise was barely visible, how Robbie had noticed it was beyond James. His first full night back and he didn't feel quite up to par, yet. Besides, he was just as comfortable here as he was at home, so why not relax and enjoy it? Granted he would be cooking breakfast in the morning, but that was simple self-defence. He would make a big fry up, that suited his mood.

James fixed his hair, which had been turned every which way by his gradual slide down the sofa, wetted his hands and splashed his face with a little watter, dried everything with the hand towel. He rolled his head on his shoulders, stretched one more time. Funny, even though he had just told himself he felt at home, back in Oxford with his work and mates and Robbie, he was still a little out of sorts, and it didn't feel like the usual travel upset, either. A bit of reverse culture shock, maybe? Mm, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe he just needed to go to bed. Yeah, that was probably it. 

In the kitchen, Robbie was staring at the coffee maker. He glanced at James. "Seven or seven thirty?"

James leaned on the breakfast bar and pondered. "Better make it seven. I don't dare have a lie-in."

"Good point," said Robbie, adjusting the timer on the machine. "Haunted house, trips around Maine, what else? Go into Canada at all?"

"Nope. New England looks tiny on the map, but it still takes time to get places. Besides, as if the house wasn't enough, then Ophelia decided we needed to go camping."

"In _October?_ "

Robbie's face was the very picture of incredulity, and James had to grin. "Yes, in October. Turns out that the girl who threw on a puffy jacket at the first sign of a damp winter breeze has become the poster child for all season camping. They even go out in the middle of winter, if you can believe it. It's hunting season in October, you can hear the gun shots at all time of the day when you're in the country. A lot of folks have their property posted with no hunting signs, but they're not exactly on every single tree. I borrowed some clothing from Brian, and off we went. And yes, I did wear hunter orange. Ophelia said she'd mail it directly to you, so I don't even have a chance of deleting it before you see it."

"I'm liking your sister more and more," quipped Robbie, leaning against the counter.

"I thought you might," answered James sardonically. "We camped on her property, actually, in what she swore was a beautiful glade when the sun was shining. It was really nothing more than a clearing in the woods. I tell you what, though, it sloped down towards a little brook that curved around a massive boulder. A glacial remnant, obviously - "

Robbie nodded solemnly. "Obviously."

"When I say 'massive', imagine a boulder twice the height of this room and perhaps three times as long. There were gashes in it from the ice, and deep, deep furrows in the granite escarpment underneath where the glacier had dragged it along. There were a few other marks on it, which Ophelia said were prehistoric from the native tribes inhabiting the area. She said people from the Native History commission had come by only that summer to take pictures of the rock and the pictographs. They were quite astonishing, Robbie. I've never seen anything like them before. These simple marks in the granite, stick figures with round heads, yet highly stylized. Standing there, it was as if those people were reaching out across time to talk just to me, to show me something of their world. It was extraordinary, just extraordinary."

"Pictures?"

James shook his head. "My phone died as soon as we got into the woods, Ophelia's too. She says it's not uncommon in that area. Not only that, there's nothing that can be done about it, either, because the internet is not considered a utility, and thus isn't relegated by the appropriate Government Agency."

Robbie hmmm'd. 

"We put up the tent, made a fire. I was worried we'd set the forest on fire, but she assured me that she knew what she was doing."

"An' you're still here."

"And I'm still here," James agreed. "Even though I was wearing hunter orange, the woods were indeed lovely. We don't have that same wildness in this country any more, not truly. Over there a bear or moose can stride right up to your house or your car, or maybe you'll run across one as you're walking along the road to get your mail. It's amazing, the depth of wild over there. Makes me think we should really re-introduce wild animals here, too. Or at least in Scotland.

Robbie snorted.

"I thought I was going to freeze once the sun went down. Once inside the tent, though, it was quite warm. I've walked the Camino and never have I been so comfortable outside as when I was in Maine. I thought I'd be nervous with all the wildlife outside, but while it was a bit startling to hear all the night time noises, it was Ophelia who scared the hell out of me. We're sitting by the fire drinking tea and making s'mores - "

"S'mores?"

James winced. "A kind of sweet that you cook over an open fire. Chocolate and toasted marshmallow sandwiched between graham crackers, which is their version of digestive biscuits, but thinner."

"Ah, I think I had those once..."

James wasn't about to tell Robbie how many he'd eaten, or that he'd woken up in the middle of the night with a heaving stomach. Some things Robbie wasn't meant to know. "Ophelia decides to tell me the story behind the mansion. George Barker was a philanthropist and humanitarian who made his money from the slave trade."

Robbie frowned. "I thought the slave trade was a Southern tradition?"

"It was, but for a time many Northerners profited directly off of it as well. George Barker got into the African slave trade after the local Native American tribes were so decimated by slavery and disease there was no one left to send to the sugar fields in the Caribbean. The story is that after he got through with the locals there were only three members of the Monhegan tribe left, three children, of whom two died of consumption before they were five. The last member, a woman named Bessie, was reported to have cursed Barker and his family before she died at the age of fifteen."

"Terrible," said Robbie, shaking his head. "Those poor bastards."

"I know. Ophelia said she's read letters from one Captain Teague, who reported that he and his crew witnessed strange rituals and prayers among the, and I quote, 'heathen pagan idolators', on the journey to Antigua, et al," James closed his eyes and recited from memory. " _'The slaves aboard the ship begged a piece of tobacco from a member of the crew, Mr. Jones, and proceeded to chew it, drawing sickness upon themselves. They lifted their hands to the sky and cried out to their ot-see-uh wee-tee-ko. No one on the ship knows what this is, presumably their sky god, but they will soon be learned better.'_ "

"Lovely."

"Bessie is reported to have used the same words,that ot-see-uh wee-tee-ko, so they probably used the same lingual family, if they weren't from the same tribe or indeed, even the same family. What's truly fascinating is what happened to Barker after. Now, this is all speculation, and correlation does not equal causation - "

"Except when it does."

James nodded. "Except when it does. However, odd things began to happen to Barker. His first wife was murdered by a servant girl, and his first child drowned when he was sixteen. He had better luck with his second wife, Jane. She bore him seventeen children. Unfortunately, all by one died by the time they were of marriageable age. That survivor lasted until he was twenty-nine, when he was crushed by a bale of cotton that fell off a loading dock as he walked by."

"I see what you mean about correlation," muttered Robbie, frowning. "I can't imagine seeing all of your children die."

"Or your entire tribe carted off."

"Wasn't making a moral judgment, man," Robbie chided. "If you have children you'll understand what I mean."

James very highly doubted children were in his future, but he mentioned nothing to Robbie. Leave the man his dreams of seeing James with a partner. "In any case, there's a long, troubling history behind the Barker Castle, and why Ophelia had to tell me this story in the dark of the woods, I don't know."

Robbie started to speak and was caught by a huge yawn. "Jesus," he said, blinking rapidly. "Guess that's a sign I should go to bed."

"Me too," yawned James in turn. 

Robbie clapped one hand on James' shoulder as they headed down the hallway to their respective bedrooms. "You never did tell me what that woman was so frightened of."

"Woman? Oh, her. Ophelia wasn't the first one to say I looked like a blond Barker. The Castle is the big draw for the town and apparently I am the spitting image of George Barker, at least according to virtually everyone I met. Andy commented upon it too, as well as Brian, even Linden, Ophelia's eldest, did a double take," James paused before the door to the guest room. "I guess I can see it, but I would hardly call myself his doppleganger. Ophelia said the woman, her name was Tina, was a well known drug user, prone to fits and occasionally violent outbursts. The kind of think we're bother familiar with. Nonetheless, it wasn't pleasant, being screamed at by a virtual stranger."

If that had been all she had done, that would have been fine. But it hadn't merely been yelling and screaming, no. Tina had launched herself at him without warning while he and Ophlia had been crossing Marsh street to Pine. She had scratched her nails down his chest, doing no harm as he was layered in shirts due to that morning's inclement weather. He could have lived without her spitting into his face or trying to knee him in the groin. Luckily her strike had missed. He had wrestled her to the ground, but she was like wild creature, to the point of hitting her head against the sidewalk once she realized she couldn't harm him.

"What was she yelling?" asked Robbie, scratching at his chin.

Nonsense. She just said two words over and over again, _wendago manaha, WENDAGO MANAHA!_ James shrugged. "She was off her head with whatever she had taken. Wild eyes, tangled hair, strange smell. She was a mess."

"On that note, I'm off to bed," Robbie opened his bedroom door, then swung back to James. "I'm glad you're back."

James snorted. "Maine is not about to tempt me into moving over there. The winters are too hard and too long."

"G'night."

"Night," James waited until Robbie had closed the door before padding quietly back into the kitchen for a glass of water. Yeah, he must have gotten a bug or something while he was over there, his stomach was a little peaky. Nothing worth bothering about, really, it was just a bit of a pain in the arse. Well, he _hoped_ it wouldn't be a pain in the arse, so to speak. 

He finally settled in to bed, grateful for the warmth and comfort. Beat camping any day. Closing his eyes, he started meditating light, just enough slow breathing to calm his thoughts down before he drifted off. A neat little trick Ophelia had shown him the tent. 

James jerked awake a few minutes later. He rolled onto his back, looked around the room. What...? The remnants of his...dream? No, there had been something in the room, he could swear there was something...

 _Fuck!_ James scrambled back against the headboard, unable to do anything else except freeze in place, heart pounding. No - no - it was just his own reflection in the standing mirror. He slumped in relief, shakily wiping sudden perspiration from his brow. Bloody hell, Barker Castle must have made more of an impression in his mind than he had originally thought. Sleep wasn't going to come any time soon, not the way he was feeling now. He turned on the lamp, rumbled in the side table drawer for the book he had left behind - Shantaram. He grimaced, wished he had brought something a less...breathless to read. Oh well, he didn't fancy rooting around the living room for Robbie's latest read.

A few minutes later James sighed and put the book back in the drawer. A second later he took it out again. He had to leave a better book to read, because despite all the acclaim it had received, he found it overwrought, over emotional, and overly dramatic. He turned the light off and slid down under the covers once more. 

He yawned once, twice. 

A third time.

Stared at the mirror. In the morning he was going to move it out of direct line of sight. Robbie could move it back as necessary, right? Maybe some people liked mirrors looking back at them in the bedroom - for whatever reason - but the sight of his reflection looking back at himself - it was disturbing. James reminded himself that Robbie was only across the hall, he would come in an instant if James needed him. James curled up, cocooned himself in the duvet and closed his eyes, firmly telling himself to go to sleep. Everything would be better in the morning.

If James had chanced to look at the mirror one last time, he might have noticed dark tendrils of… _something_ …curling around the edges, like ink dropped into water. He might have seen a shadow, small, like a child, peeping through the mirror. The form was a black cutout with no visible eyes or mouth or nose. It popped its head out of the mirror, holding on to the frame as if it were afraid to step into the present - or was it holding itself back? Snakelike, it looked around the room, ignoring James entirely until it had seen everything there was to see.

Then it stepped out of the mirror, quiet as a cat. It chittered softly to itself as it approached the bed, running one hand from the bottom of the duvet to the top. Bending low over James's head, it gave an almost sub-vocal churr. A moment later it knelt on the bed, then lay down facing James. It turned into mist, drawn into James like smoke into a cooker hood. 

And it was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> The [Wendigo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo) is pretty darned frightening. I hope I have not tread too heavily upon Native American spirituality. 
> 
> This story was...not easy to write, for various reasons. I did a lot of hacking and slashing, hopefully the joins won't appear too crookedly. I also had heaps of interruptions, which did not help.
> 
> The [Petroglyphs.](http://iroquoisbeadwork.blogspot.com/2012/01/abenaki-and-bellows-falls-vt.html)
> 
> The first time I heard [this](https://youtu.be/cHyH36l3bj4), I had no idea what it was and it creeped me the hell out. 
> 
> In further writerly fail, I cannot find the research I read for some elements of this work. *hangs head in shame*
> 
> Next time I'll do better, I promise.


End file.
